


Stable

by tac_winchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug Use, FTM, Gen, Implied Transphobia, Marijuana, Self Harm, Self-Esteem Issues, Trans, Trans Male Character, Transgender, self hatred, trans reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 23:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17293232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tac_winchester/pseuds/tac_winchester
Summary: The reader is a transgender male and younger brother of Sam and Dean. Riddled with thoughts of worthlessness and inferiority, he secludes himself on a small cliff with a joint and a razor in hand.





	Stable

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not use this story to trigger yourself purposefully. Resources are listed at the end.

Nothing my brothers could say would sway me from what I already knew. From the moment that I put the joint to my lips and the blade to my wrist, I knew I had disappointed them far more than they would tell me. On top of that, I’m the little brother they never wanted, morphed from the sister they adored. I am worth less than I was before, despite the fact that I am nearly as strong as my older brothers. Physically. If a monster ever got into my head, that could be a deadly situation. 

I was born a mere ten minutes after Sam. I was the child that the Winchesters had never expected, but they never said they didn’t want me. That part came as a soft whisper as I was always the weaker one. Sam was more reliable, more intellectual, and surprisingly more level-headed than I could be, although we both got the irrationality from our parents. Dean had the upper hand above both of us in being the best child, but he was also the oldest so it was inevitable that he would master things before we could. Sam and I got along very well yet poorly at the same time. 

Sexism played into that. John, our “father”, was reluctant to let me train as much as his other sons even after I came out as a male. I guess a vagina between my legs banned me from all contact sports. I showed him up by doing any physical activity they would allow me into in school: wrestling, track, soccer, and I almost made the football team. Sometimes we moved around too much for me to really prove my strength. My brothers let me spar and train when John wasn’t home. As much as they knew he would not like it, sometimes my stubbornness made them ruffle my hair and let me go at them. 

Flash forward to now, where I am in the hundredth motel room with Dean and John while Sam is at college for his third semester. I truly am proud of him for taking up higher education. I can’t help but feel, however, like he is the one that got away and I am still living in John’s back seat. Although John would prefer me working for him since he needs me now, I wished I could make something more of myself. 

The autumn breeze made me huddle deeper into my worn jacket. The stifling air of a rather stressful case sent me running to the hills quite literally. A nearby state park and an inclining trail brought me to where I sat on a couple mossy rocks looking over a ledge. I settled back, leaning on a tree behind the rocks and staring over the horizon. Views like this could make one feel invincible, as if they had seen the top of the world or the edge of the earth. I dug into my pocket for an old repurposed cigarette pack and pulled out a cone I had packed in the bathroom of the motel. Dean nor John knew that I smoked, nor did they need to know. Sam had caught me once behind an abandoned barn after I had fled from an argument with John, but that was when he told me that he got accepted into Stanford. It was a twin secret at that time, and Sam has kept up his end. Sam eventually had to tell the rest about his college acceptance at some point. 

The first hit ignited my chest with an ancient burn. The cool air refreshed my lungs and I blew smoke over the cliff which loomed above a pond. Another drag brought the smoke to my head, and my short tolerance break allowed me to slump into the tree trunk behind me. I would be more useful back in the room researching whatever terrorized this bumfuck town. If Sam hadn’t left, I would be even more useful completely out of their lives. Perhaps I should have been the one that got away. I took another hit once that negative thought panged in my chest, an unfriendly reminder of how I really thought of myself. 

I reached into my pocket again. My fingers carefully slid around until I felt the dull edge of a razor blade nestled in the corner of my pocket. I rubbed the plastic grip in my forefingers, debating on whether or not I should. Nothing really triggered me to cut, but this was the alone time I could get besides a shower and this had the perfect view. A nice joint, some blissful sounds, and the high of blood loss. I set the blade on my knee, next to my old lighter and the pack of pre-rolled cones. Some rust was caught in the slits of the razor where it would connect to a scraper. A reddish tint lined the actual blade of the piece of metal. I held the tiny danger in one hand and rolled my sleeve up, my lack of motor skills causing the still lit bud to singe the hairs of my forearm. Pink and silver lines greeted me menacingly. I pathetically dragged the blade over my skin, feeling it nick in one place but not scratch. I took another hit of the j to give myself that extra push to make a nice, even cut. 

The blood was pouring before I knew what happened. My hand, clutching the blade, came down in a quick swinging motion over my forearm just below my elbow and I grit my teeth. White underneath my skin flashed before my eyes until the blood pooled in to seal the cut. The red liquid seeped down my arms through the body hair and onto my jeans.

“Fuck,” I sighed under my breath. I had nothing on me to wrap up the cut, yet it didn’t seem to be deep enough to kill me. If Dean and John really wanted me back in the motel room, they would have to wait until I was sober and less lightheaded. The weed and the blood loss pinned me down to where I sat even if the rocks were beginning to be uncomfortable. I relit the joint and puffed the afternoon away. 

The stars were peeking through the cobalt blue sky when I heard a rustle in the bushes around me. The cut had stopped bleeding, but the high wasn’t completely gone nor had my head cleared. Part of me forgot why I was still up here in the first place.

“Y/N?” Dean’s tired voice grumbled behind me. If I hadn’t been so inebriated, that would have sent me stiff as a board. 

“Uh, hey,” I tried. Dean’s boots came into view where my gaze was fixed on the ground. He crouched down and steered my head up to look at his face.

“The fuck are you doing out here?”

“Smokin’.”

Dean came around and took a seat next to me where my arm hung out to dry. Once he saw the red he grabbed my wrist, pulling the healing gash closer to his eyes. It had scabbed over well enough but still seemed too open to heal into a less noticeable scar. My brother’s thumb rubbed over the dry blood that made tracks on my arm and where it had clumped in my arm hair. “A-And you did this to yourself?” he asked. 

Part of me wished that I wasn’t so high. My brain was swimming underwater while panic rushed through my veins, but I couldn’t find the voice in me to say anything. I began to pull my arm out of Dean’s grip, and he surprisingly let my limp wrist slip through his calloused hand.

“Leave me alone,” I managed to say.

“Why, so you can carve yourself up like a Thanksgiving turkey? This isn’t normal, man,” he said. I turned away from Dean, leaning my side against the tree trunk. I dug out another joint and pressed it to my lips, flicking the lighter angrily. Dean’s hand grabbed my shoulder and made me turn towards him once I had cherried the cone. “Give me a hit.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I handed Dean the joint and he took a drag. His face scrunched up and he began to cough, smoke coming out of his mouth in chunks. This made me smile a bit. “I didn’t know you smoked,” I said.

“I haven’t in a while. With Dad tracking down the demon and the influx of cases it’s been mostly whiskey and chicks.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“I’m more concerned about this,” he pointed at my arm again. My chest sunk as I remembered he had seen it. “We need to get this cleaned up so that it doesn’t get infected.”

I shoved my razor and pack of joints back into my pocket and stood up. “How are you so okay with this?” I began. The trees behind Dean shifted as I realized I wasn’t so steady on my feet. I stumbled forward toward him, taking the joint and a long pull. Smoke came out of my mouth in puffs as I ranted, “Fucking yell at me. Hit me. Tell me I’m not as good as you, or Sam, or John! Tell me how it really is, how I am the surprise child that nobody even wanted, who’s too much of a fuck up and freak to do anything right or be of any use. Tell me that.”

Dean stood up as well, grabbing me by the shoulder in order to keep me upright. The blood loss was still getting to my head and I couldn’t see straight. My hands tingled from the fingertips up. I held onto Dean’s bicep for support. He brought me back down to earth, sitting us both down on the mossy rocks overlooking the ledge. I hadn’t realized how close I was to falling. 

“I don’t know why you would think that about yourself. You are just as valuable to the family as I am. You’re smart, you’re strong, you’re helpful. I love you, and I don’t want you hurting yourself. You can keep smoking, I’m not going to rat on you for having a little fun, but please don’t cut anymore. You’re better than that,” he said. I nestled my head into his chest as tears welled in the corners of my eyes. My heart was wrapped in the warmth of my brother’s love even if part of me wasn’t completely receptive to it. Dean patted my back and rubbed smooth circles over the worn jacket.

I pulled back and nodded. “I will try not to,” I said, “for your sake.” 

Dean allowed me to lean on him as the sky grew darker and constellations bloomed. Occasionally he would take the joint and hit it as well, flicking embers onto the rocks below. There was a silence of comfort and mutual understanding that, yeah, while I was pretty messed up as it was, eventually everything would be okay or at least stable. But for now, I had Dean.

**Author's Note:**

> If you need help, there is always a hand reaching out. Here are some resources that I have used when times got tough and I felt like I had no one to turn to:
> 
> Trevor Project - an organization to prevent suicides and crisis of LGBT youth (although you do not have to be LGBT to use their services) where you can call 24/7 - 866-488-7386 (to call, they have chat and text during certain times which you can find on their website)
> 
> Crisis Text Line - a 24/7 text line to help in your time of need. If you are in the United States, simply text "HOME" to 741741


End file.
